Secrets
by Slythindor
Summary: Hermione thought life was going fine (well, as fine as it ever could get), but after a run-in with Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley, things are looking rather like they used to be. Ron's worried for her, as usual, but she just can't keep away...
1. Meeting The Past

  **_Present Day_**

  


  It was the hottest day in seven months, and she was glad to be free. Free of her house, free of Lavender's nagging, but most of all – free of her troubles. Not that her troubles ever went away, but it was looking like a promising start to the day. If she could just keep her mind off of it long enough . . .

  Hermione walked down Diagon Alley as if she had seen light for the first time in years. Her arms swung happily by her sides and she looked around at her surroundings with such glee that she was sure that at any moment the strange looks would start barrelling at her. But for once, she couldn't seem to bring herself to care. Diagon Alley was full with people, all of them out to enjoy a good day's shopping in the nice weather. Hermione liked nothing more than the feel of the oncoming summer, and the sporadic sunny days made her smile at just the thought.

  _If Lavender could see me now . . . _Hermione thought back to her friend, who had practically had to push Hermione out of the house that morning. Now, Hermione couldn't even remember why she'd bothered to protest. She was trouble free, and that was all that mattered.

  _Hmmm . . . where to go?_

  Hermione shrugged back the right arm of her cloak, checking the time. She still had ten minutes before she was due to meet Ron, and she needed (or rather, wanted, seeing as Ron often moaned about the size of her bookcase) a new book. She veered quickly to the right, strolling into Flourish & Blotts and automatically over to The Dark Arts section.

  _No wonder Ron blames this for my nightmares,_ Hermione mused, picking up a large, blue, leather bound book with a twisted demon face on the cover. She shuddered, placing the book back carefully and deciding to head for nicer areas that day.

  A couple of minutes later, Hermione strolled out of the shop exactly the same way she'd strolled in, but this time with a nice new book tucked under her arm.

  _And now, to meet Ron . . ._

  Hermione turned towards The Leaky Cauldron, the smile still firmly plastered on her face. In the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, someone coming the opposite way slammed right into her, making her jump and the book fall to the cobblestones with a thump.

  The offending person quickly muttered an apology, stooping down to scoop up the book. He was dressed in a long black cloak which skimmed the ground, the hood pulled up over his head - strange dress for the nice weather. He turned around, straightening up and offering the book back.

  Hermione's smile fell. She was sure she heard a gasp, but she wasn't sure if it came from her. Her heart sank and everything flew back. All the problems she'd been harbouring came flooding back at her as her heart rose in her chest, trying to pound its way out. Draco Malfoy stared back at her, his face expressionless. His outstretched hand wavered slightly, but he was a blank canvas.

  Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Her mind was echoing the same thing over and over again; _No, no, no. She struggled to find her voice, "D-Draco?"_

  "Surprised to see me, Hermione?" he said, smiling slightly.

  Hermione almost smiled back, but her face muscles seemed to be stuck on 'shocked'. She should've known he'd try and make a joke out of the situation. That was him all over.

  She swallowed. Try again. "What are you doing here?"

  Draco put his hands up, tugging the hood securely over his head and hiding some of the distinctive silver-blonde hair that was showing.

  "Just a bit of light shopping," he replied.

  "Have – have you seen . . ." she trailed off. No, of course he hadn't seen Ron. There were no bruises on his face.

  Draco knew. "Weasley?" he shook his head, "No. I haven't seen him. Is he here?"

  Hermione was aware she was nodding. She took a deep breath, trying to control herself. She knew from experience that it wasn't good when your body moved on its own accord. "I'm going to meet him."

  "Don't let me stop you," he said pleasantly, stepping to the side.

  Hermione ignored him, slightly annoyed that he was acting as if their bumping into each other was a regular occurrence.

  "What _are you doing here?" she looked directly at him, trying to lock his eyes, but his gaze seemed to fall everywhere but on her._

  "I've moved back," he replied, concentrating on something behind her.

  "Really? Where? When?" Hermione was shocked, but tried not to show it. That seemed easier said than done.

  "Two weeks ago, about. Not far from here."

  "Oh. I see. You should've Owled, or something."

  Draco cocked his head, an eyebrow raised and looking straight at her for the first time. "Because you'd really want to see me?"

  "I'd want to know if you were here," she replied.

  "Well," he said, looking away. "Now you know."

  There was silence. Draco glanced around, looking like he was interested in his surroundings. Hermione stared at him, thinking back to the last time she'd seen him. She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. That was what today was for, wasn't it? To get away.

  "I . . . I have to get going," she stammered.

  His eyes swivelled back round. "I guess I'll see you around then," his mouth curved in a slight smirk. "Give Weasley my regards."

  Hermione didn't smile back. "Goodbye, Draco."

  She took the book from him and walked away quickly, past him and down the alley, weaving through the crowds. When she arrived at The Leaky Cauldron, she glanced back, but he was no longer there. Taking a deep breath, she ducked inside the pub.

  The Leaky Cauldron was emptier than usual. A group of local wizards that were there everytime Hermione went in stood at their usual spot at the bar, talking to Tom.

  Ron was sat in one of the booths by himself, nursing a half-full tankard of butterbeer still frothing over the edges. He looked utterly bored, and as Hermione approached him, she checked her watch and winced to see she was almost ten minutes late. 

   "I see you finally made it," Ron said, glancing up as she neared and put down his drink.  

   "Sorry. I got caught up," she replied, slipping into a seat opposite him and putting the book on to the table with a dull thud.

   "I didn't think you'd come," Ron said. He carried on, a resentful edge creeping into his voice. "Lavender said you would, but I tend to not believe anything she says these days."

   Hermione sighed. "No one likes a bitter person, Ron."

   "No one likes a cheating person, either," he snapped back.

   "She's sorry, y'know."

   "Yeah, so she says, but I really don't care," he downed the last of his drink and rose to his feet. "You want a drink?"

   Hermione nodded and watched her friend's retreating back as he headed to the bar, ordered the drinks and chatted with a Ministry wizard as he waited. Her mind went back to Draco. She smiled to herself, thinking it was strange the people you associate with the words you hear. 'Draco' always made her think of Ginny, due to the youngest Weasley's mad crush on him back at Hogwarts. Hermione knew for a fact that the word 'cow' triggered Ron to think of Harry. Apparently, there was a long, manly, summer afternoon spent lying in a field amongst the cows some years back. She didn't even want to know.

   "So," Ron said, sitting back down and placing two steaming butterbeers on the table, "how is Lavender?"

   "I thought you didn't care?"

   "I don't care for what she says, but I care for how she is," Ron corrected.

   Hermione frowned and took a sip of her drink, not sure why Ron had bought them warm drinks on a warm day. "I thought you spoke to her?"

   "I did, but it was only to ask if you were coming, and then before I could get round to the pleasantries, she'd hung up on me."

   "In other words, you pissed her off again?"

   Ron mulled this over for a moment. "It would seem that way."

   Hermione grinned slightly. "She's fine. A little persistent, but fine," Her face switched to serious. "You should come round. The anniversary will be here soon."

   Ron leaned back in his seat, sighing deeply, "It's been five years already?"

   Hermione nodded. The fifth year without her best friend would be hard on Lavender, like it was every year, but Hermione knew Ron would be there for her.

   "How's the family?" Hermione asked, wanting to change the subject to a happier one.

   "Ah, they're okay," Ron waved a hand, "they want you round for dinner soon, by the way. Mum's been asking about you. Ginny's home from France soon, and Bill arrived home the other day, so she wants a family gathering."

   Hermione smiled, thinking back to her 'second family', as Molly Weasley often said they were. "That'll be nice."

   They talked for a while more, of anything that was happening and anything they wanted since they'd last seen each other. Hermione couldn't help think of Draco though, and he was plaguing her mind the whole time.

   "Ron," Hermione spoke slowly, trying to sound casual, but knowing she was failing. "I ran into someone today. That's why I was late."

   Ron didn't seem to notice the change in her actions. "Oh, really? Who?"

   "Draco Malfoy," she replied evenly, but a slight wobble in her voice came into play as soon as she spoke his name.

   Ron paled, dropping his tankard to the table. "Malfoy?"

   Hermione nodded. "Yes. Draco. I bumped into him, coming out of Flourish and Blotts."

   "You didn't talk to him, did you?" Ron asked, starting to lose his cool.

   "Of course I did. I couldn't just walk past him as if nothing happened." 

   "My God, Hermione!" Ron cried, the anger rising in his voice, "You know you shouldn't talk to him!"

  "No," Hermione pointed out, trying to stay calm. "_You_ tell _me I shouldn't talk to him. I haven't seen him since . . .," she trailed off, her eyes falling to the tabletop._

   The anger dropped from Ron's face. "What did he look like?"

    "Oddly the same. He had his hood up. He looked strange, dressed like that."

    "He won't want anyone to recognise him. A lot of people hate him. If they knew he was back in the area . . .," Ron sighed. "I don't want you to talk to him, Hermione. He's dangerous."

    Hermione looked up at him. "Ron Weasley, you know full well he is nothing of the sort!"

    "A lot of people don't believe that," Ron replied.

    "Yeah, well a lot of people also believe you're the worst Auror there's ever been, but you don't believe them, do you?"

    Ron's eyes narrowed. "That's completely different."

    "It all has to do with the same thing though, doesn't it? If Harry hadn't of –"

    Ron cut her off, his eyes flashing. "Don't you dare say it."

    "If Harry hadn't died," Hermione said it anyway, but instantly regretted it from the way Ron's face fell, "then no one would think Draco was dangerous, or that you were a bad Auror. Half of those 'people' don't know anything about what happened."  

   Ron spoke quietly. "People believe what they hear. What they read. Unless you're gonna go publicising it and telling everyone exactly what happened, they're gonna carry on believing it."

   Hermione knew she was on the brink of tears. She rubbed her eyes, not wanting to cry in front of Ron, even though she had countless times before. "They think it's your fault. They think you killed Harry."

  Ron stared back at her, his face as expressionless as Draco's had been earlier. "That's because it is my fault."

   "No, Ron, you know that's not true!" she was getting angry now and was about to be overcome with tears any second. "Stop saying that!"

    A few witches near-by turned to look at them, frowning at the loudness of their voices. Hermione ducked her head, hiding behind her hair and hastily wiping her eyes, while Ron reached out and took her hand. The witches turned to each other, whispering quickly. Hermione knew they recognised her and Ron, so she lowered her voice.

   "Did you know Draco was back?"

    Ron shook his head, hissing, "No, of course not!"

    "Oh," Hermione replied. "I thought maybe you'd know from the Ministry."

    "No, they also tend to believe what they hear," Ron said dryly, giving her a pointed look.

    Hermione sighed, hating how Ron blamed himself for Harry's death as well as hating how people always assumed what had happened. Ron was right, though. There was nothing she could do to change people's opinions on that day. Even though she told herself countless times that it didn't matter what they thought as long as she never forgot the truth, Hermione was crushed that anyone would ever think that it was Ron's fault - including Ron himself.

    "What did Malfoy say?" Ron asked. Hermione could see he was more interested than he was letting on, whether it was out of shock or pure curiosity.

    "Not much," Hermione told him. "Just that he's moved back. I was too surprised to think about it." She smiled wryly at the irony of it all. "I keep thinking of things I should've asked him, y'know? Things that I've wanted to ask him all this time. Typical, as soon as I see him I forget everything."

   Ron shrugged. "I can imagine how weird it would be. It has been a long time."

   "Too long," Hermione nodded in agreement, absentmindedly chewing lightly on her bottom lip as she thought back to Draco. "He looked pretty shocked too. Not that he actually made an expression other than the usual I'm-a-pretty-boy-in-total-control smirk or the I-make-girls-literally-faint smile, but I could tell."

   Ron grinned. "He did always know how to stay the ironic detachment guy."

   "But you know what was strange?" Hermione continued. "Everything felt okay, as soon as I'd seen him. Like this whole day, I was so weary about it, coming out so close to the anniversary and all that, but he seemed almost . . . familiar."

   Ron raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen him in almost five years. Plus, you know you can't stay locked up for two weeks every time the anniversary comes around."

   "Yeah, so you and Lavender have told me."

    Ron smiled. "Then I'm glad you finally took our advice."

    "Ah, I dunno," Hermione mused with a shrug. "Maybe I shouldn't have come out. Then I wouldn't have bumped into damn Draco Malfoy and know that he was back in town."

   "You say that as if you think bumping into him was a bad thing. Which," he pointed at her for emphasis, "it was."

    Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know it wasn't."

    "All I know is that Draco Malfoy must be back for a reason. One, I think, that I don't really _want to know."_

    Hermione contemplated this for a moment. What if Draco was back for some reason? But then what could that be? She sighed, knowing she was thinking too deep about the whole situation. Draco could just have moved back because he simply liked living here, he didn't have to have any reason such as the one she knew Ron was getting at.

   "So why do you think he's back then?" she asked anyway.

    Ron shrugged, running his finger around the rim of his empty tankard. "I don't know." 

    Hermione knew he was lying. He did, of course, have his own interpretation into Draco's sudden appearance, but she also knew that he would cover it up in a hope of protecting her. Ever since Harry had gone, Ron took the protective role up even further. Hermione also knew, as Ginny often pointed out, that she should just tell Ron to stop looking out for her as she could handle whatever came her way, but telling Ron to leave her alone would be like telling Ginny to join a nunnery. It just wouldn't work.

   There was a silence for a couple of minutes. After a lousy attempt to change the subject on Ron's part, Hermione knew she should just leave it for the afternoon.

    "I should get going," she said, getting to her feet. Glancing at her watch, she noted that she'd been out for past two hours. A record for this time of year.

   Ron nodded, following her to his feet. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'll talk to you later, or something. Will you be okay on your own?"

   "Yeah, of course. Bye," she gave him a quick smile and picked up her book before turning on her heel and exiting the pub, back into the busy street.

   Not feeling all that joyful about the nice weather anymore, and rather not wanting to risk bumping into any other unexpected people, Hermione decided to Apparate back to the house. She was standing on the doorstep in a matter of seconds and quickly let herself in. As soon as the door closed loudly behind her, she sighed, feeling the security of home come settling back. It was a good feeling. She decided she needed a nice, hot bath to try and rid herself of all these Draco Malfoy thoughts she was suddenly having.

    "Hermione? That you?"

    Hermione stopped halfway up the stairs as Lavender came into view through the arch that led in to the kitchen down below. She was brandishing a duster and a bottle of polish.

    Hermione grinned at the sight. "Finally getting rid of those spiders, eh?"

    "Meh," Lavender shrugged, then grinned deviously, "I'm thinking about leaving them up as a present to Ron."

    Hermione laughed. "You two are driving me crazy."

           "So, did you have a good afternoon out?"

          Hermione shrugged. "It was okay," she knew she should tell Lavender about Draco, but this time was hard for her friend as it was. Why go bringing up Draco Malfoy when all it would do is upset her?

          Hermione had been renting a room off of Lavender ever since they'd left Hogwarts. At first it had just been simply because Lavender had needed someone to be there for her, but her and Ron hadn't got round to the moving in together part of their relationship yet, so Ron suggested that Hermione move in with her. So she did, at first just part of a short-term agreement, but almost five years later, she was still living there.

          "I'm glad you went out," Lavender said.

          Hermione nodded slightly, smiled, and then carried on up the stairs. Forgetting all about the bath, she headed straight into her room and threw herself on to her bed, burying her face in the soft quilt and thinking about that day all over again. Eventually, she sighed, pushing herself up and leaning back on the wall at the top her bed. 

          That was when she saw it. Propped up on her bedside table against a smiling, moving picture of Ron, Harry and her was a small envelope, with one word on the front, elaborately written in green ink. _Hermione. ___

          Reaching over, she picked it up, frowning. _Who was sending her letters?_ Turning it over, she ripped it open slowly and took out the piece of parchment that was inside, unfolding it carefully.

          **_He is still alive.  _**


	2. Funerals & Balconies

**_1998  _**

  It had been raining for days. Endless streams of water, thrashing against the ground. Draco had never seen anything like it, but considered it a quite ironic sign. Typical of the Heaven's opening right at that moment in time. Many people tutted, blaming the typical English weather, although Draco was sure it _was_ some sort of sign. Not one he was willing to think about to much, but a sign at the very least.

  Everyone was crying. Tears mixing with the rain so that neither was distinguishable from the other. Draco couldn't cry. He'd tried. He'd sat there in his room earlier that morning on his crisply made bed in his freshly starched clothes, looked round at his immaculately tidy room, closed his eyes, and tried to cry, but there was nothing there. He didn't feel anything, and without feeling emotion, it was hard to show it. Now they all were all crying, all but him. He didn't want them to cry, he wanted them to do anything but. Even laughter would do. At a time like this, he guessed people needed laughter more than anything. That's what he'd done after trying to cry. Laugh. He'd laughed and laughed until his sides hurt. Until his mother had come rushing upstairs, taking him into her arms worriedly, mistaking the tears of laughter for ones of pain. At least then there had been some sort of grief. Now there was nothing.

  Draco inhaled deeply, feeling the cold air rush right down to the bottom of his lungs. Exhaling, his breath danced infront of him, leaving traces of ghostly mist long after it had faded into the rain. He repeated the pattern, slowly counting how long his breath stayed there for. Three. Four. Three.

  Suddenly, someone's hand on his shoulder startled him. Holding his breath and blinking, Draco watched the last air-ghost fade away before losing the pattern. Narcissa looked down at him, her face tear and rain streaked. Draco wondered why she was crying, wondered how she could. She bit her lip, nodding her head slightly. Draco nodded back, and her hand slipped from his right shoulder as she turned back to face forwards.

  Draco didn't know which part of the service they were on. He wasn't sure how they went, anyway. He'd lost concentration on whatever the man was saying a long time ago and didn't bother trying to regain it. What was the point? He already knew all the man was going to say. He'd heard it all before.

  Draco looked back at his mother, wondering slightly what she was thinking. She was stood tall and proud, head held high and hardly even blinking. Malfoy Pride, that's what it was all about, wasn't it? Can't show the pain. Malfoy's don't hurt. Can't show the grief. Malfoy's don't cry. Can't even show a sad smile, Malfoy's don't even have emotion. Was this why it was so hard to cry? Had he been so well trained? Was that all he was, some sort of robot? Even Narcissa had managed to break the barricade and cry, and all the while he couldn't even get his mouth to do anything but stay in a straight line.

  Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a funeral. He didn't think he had ever been to one before. It was hard to remember. They never saw anyone from either side of the family. Lucius was an only child, like Draco himself, so he had no brother or sisters and his mother and father had long since died. Narcissa's family all immigrated to America a long time ago. Not that they'd want any contact with her, they never had since they found out about Lucius.

  Draco lifted a hand to his forehead, pushing back his hair. The rain was messing it all up, although he couldn't bring himself to care. It fell in long, silver tendrils around his head, annoying him slightly. He sighed, concentrating on his hair, or that fact that his new shoes were hurting so much that he knew he'd have aching feet the next day. That way, he didn't have to think about the coffin being lowered into the ground. Or that his father's body was inside it.

* * * * * * *

  Narcissa had been stood for a long time. Stood still, staring at the pile of fresh earth as if it would suddenly move and she'd have a husband again. Watching it, even though most of her didn't care. Didn't care that she didn't have a husband. After all, if your husband was Lucius Malfoy, would you really want him back?

  There had been a lot of people there that day. All offering their condolences and sympathy, as if they also really cared. Fake tears all around. Who knows? Maybe some people were really crying for the loss of Lucius, but no names sprang immediately to Narcissa's mind.

  Narcissa thought back to when she'd first met Lucius, way back when they still attended Hogwarts. He'd made her feel special, as if she truly belonged somewhere. They'd gotten married in a hurry, everyone smiling and happy. It was when they got back to their new Manor that the smiling stopped. He'd changed. She'd noticed he was changing for a while, it was very gradual. He was often out at meetings; ones that she knew were to do with the Dark Lord. They had a good front, though, people suspected, but never pointed the finger. He continued like that, never at home, until one day she's had enough and broke down infront of him, crying and screaming. Lucius had just stood there, watching her. He didn't speak until she'd finished, just stood looking down at her as she cried on the floor, an apprehensive look on his face. Once she could cry no more, he'd taken her in his arms, making physical contact for the first time in months, and told her everything would be okay. They could start a family.

  Everything was okay then, for a few weeks. Well, she thought it was and was so happy when she discovered she was pregnant. Now they could finally have the big family she'd always wanted. Then Draco was born. Narcissa smiled fondly, remembering when she'd first laid eyes on her perfect little baby. He'd been such a happy little boy, smiling up at her. After a while, Narcissa decided they needed another child, a playmate for little Draco. Lucius had other ideas. No, he'd said, they didn't need another child; the Dark Lord says we have more than enough. Narcissa had cried, again. How could the Dark Lord decide if they should have more children? Lucius just stared at her, and she knew what the answer was. No, the Dark Lord only needs one child. No, we can only have one child.

  "Mother?"

  Narcissa knew Draco was behind her, she'd known for some time. He'd been stood watching her as all the other guests filed out; wondering when the best time was to approach.

  Narcissa turned. "Yes, Draco?" She looked at his concerned gaze, and wondered if he was missing his father. There was a time earlier that morning when she had thought that he was, but now she realised he was just like her, finding that there was nothing there, like both their hearts were empty. 

  "Are you ready to leave?"

  Narcissa nodded and walked away from the grave and away from her husband, towards her son.

* * * * * * *

  He was there. Draco had known rat the start of the service. He'd stood at the church, listening to the vicar drone on about what a great person Lucius Malfoy had been, and then he was at the cemetery, as if he really cared. Draco tutted to himself. Typical Harry Potter.

  Harry was stood leaning by the gate, ignoring the glares he was gaining from every other guest. Draco wanted to smile, how pissed would Lucius be to know Harry Potter attended his funeral? 

  Harry looked smart, his robes almost as nice and new as Draco's own. He was staring straight at Draco, his eyes not leaving him. His gaze made Draco feel edgy, it often did. When Draco reluctantly gave in and finally made eye contact, Harry stood up straight, waiting.

  Draco looked at Narcissa, who was walking proudly by his side. "Mother, I won't be a minute. Why don't you go back without me?"

  Narcissa didn't speak, but switched glances from her son to Harry Potter. Giving Draco a slight nod, she hurried her pace while Draco hung back, allowing Harry to approach.

  "Malfoy," Harry said, still staring at him. His head was cocked slightly, in a way which annoyed Draco. He didn't need Harry's sympathy. "I'm sorry."

  "No. You're not," replied Draco. It was a statement, but an even, cool one at that.

  Harry, head still cocked, showed the tinniest of frowns, but nodded. "I'm sorry you've lost your father. I'm not sorry it was Lucius Malfoy."

  Draco looked up, locking eyes with Harry. "Me too, Potter," he said, but looked down almost automatically, hurrying with what he said next. "I didn't think you'd come."

  "I didn't think I would either."

  "I don't suppose . . ." Draco trailed off, cursing himself for almost asking a stupid question.

  Harry shook his head knowingly. "Ron was never considering. Hermione . . . well, you know how she feels."

  Draco nodded, not wanting to say anything. He would speak to Hermione later.

  There was a silence between the two of them. Draco knew Harry was still watching him, he could feel his eyes on him at all times. Draco glanced around, looked anywhere but at Harry. There was something about eye contact that freaked him out slightly. It made him feel as if he was stripped bare, and that everyone could see everything about him. He focused on the last few leaving guests instead. They looked at the two boys, then turned away quickly like they didn't want to be caught staring at Harry Potter. Draco rolled his eyes. Now they were off to his bloody house for a party!

  "Hey, Potter," said Draco, turning back to Harry. "You want to go to a party?"

  Harry raised his eyebrows. "A party? Malfoy, I wouldn't exactly call it a _party_ . . ."

  "Well," Draco replied, starting for the exit and leaving Harry no choice but to follow. "Trust me; this is going to be a bloody party, even if I have to spike the coffee first."

* * * * * *

  Draco didn't have to spike the coffee after all, as it seemed that all the guests were quite content with getting themselves drunk. Harry considered joining in, but then thought better of it, as surely they were all meant to be reflecting on and celebrating Lucius' life. Not that there was much to celebrate, or that Harry would bother celebrating it, but it just felt wrong to be knocking back the vodka straight after a service. He wondered if people would get drunk at his funeral, but then dismissed the thought as it was all starting to feel too morbid. Thinking about death always made him think of his parents . . .

  Harry coughed, distracting himself by looking around. He'd never been in the Malfoy's house before, and he could see why it was nicknamed Malfoy Manor. Harry wasn't sure what the house was really called, it was some fancy sounding name. Latin, probably. He'd have to find out before he left, which would hopefully be sometime in the not so distant future.

  Malfoy Manor was an impressive sight, although Harry felt very out of place. Having lost Draco almost immediately, he'd taken to wandering from room to room, gazing in awe at most of what he saw. He couldn't even begin to contemplate what living there must be like, as it all seemed so surreal, as if it wasn't lived in and was just a museum or something. Harry smiled slightly, thinking back to the Dursley's modest house back in Surrey. Dudley would love it – he'd be able to have a whole wing to himself.

  The Manor reminded Harry vaguely of Hogwarts. Sloping roofs and sweeping staircases everywhere, leading to God knows where. Hogwarts had that feel of 300 excited teenagers running through it every day, though, while the Malfoy's house didn't even feel like anyone lived in it, like no one had ever touched anything or ran through across it's floor, much less be excited. Infact, just the five or so people that were in the same room as Harry looked so out of place that it was quite strange.

  "Mr Potter. Didn't expect to see you here."

  Harry turned at the sound of his name, though he already knew who had spoken. "Hello, Professor Snape."

  He didn't know why he was quite surprised at seeing his Potions teacher there, because thinking about it, Snape would have to make an appearance. No doubt the other Death Eaters would think it very strange if the newly reverted Severus Snape didn't turn up at one of his oldest acquaintances funeral.

  "Keeping young Mr Malfoy company, I presume?" Snape said, frowning slightly. He still showed certain distaste to Harry, no spying would ever change that.

  Harry nodded. "Kind of. You haven't seen him, have you?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did. He was sat outside on the balcony."

  Not wanting to stand in Snape's presence any longer, Harry gave a quick nod before heading over in the direction he'd been set.

  "Oh, Potter," called Snape, turning to watch him. "I expect to see you tomorrow morning bright and early with all good notes from today's lesson that you've missed to come gallivanting over here."

  Harry was sure he saw the Professor smile slightly, but didn't stop to think about it as he quickly left the room.

* * * * * *

  Draco lifted the glass slowly to his lips and held it there momentarily, enjoying the coolness of it on his skin. Tipping up the glass, he let the remainder of the liquid slide down his throat, feeling the drink settle warmly in his stomach. Raising his arm, he threw the glass over the top of the balcony, listening for the satisfying smash as it hit the ground below. He reached over for another drink from the line of full glasses he had next to him and began to sip at that one.

  He was determined to get drunk. What was the point in not being? He didn't want to be there as much as anyone else did, but they could all go home. This was his home, there was no escaping it. He had to stay and endure it all, however much he didn't want to.

  "Now, what if that had hit someone?"

  Draco looked up to see Harry walking over to him. He sighed, downing the rest of the drink before throwing that one over the wall to join the other one. "Then it'd hurt."

  "Possibly kill," Harry mused. "Imagine the headline; man killed by falling glass, thrown by pathetic drunk."

  Draco looked up from his sitting position on the floor, raising his eyebrows. "Is there a reason you're here annoying me, Potter?"

  Harry shrugged, taking a seat further along the step from him. "Well, I was directed to this balcony. Took me long enough to find it though. How many do you have?"

  "Balconies?" Draco asked, picking up another drink. "Six on this side of the house."

  "Six?!" Harry exclaimed. "Ever heard the phrase 'money can't buy happiness', Malfoy?"

  "What's that? Weasley family motto?" he smirked. "You want a drink? I have enough for both of us," Draco grinned, motioning to his collection.

  Harry looked at him bemusedly. "Enough for eight of us more like. I think I'll pass."

  Draco laughed slightly, downing his current drink. "Oh yeah, I forgot that famous Harry Potter can't be seen breaking rules or having fun."

  "Or throwing up," Harry replied.

  "You a lightweight, Potter?"

  Harry felt himself blush. "No! I just don't think that this is the time to be drinking myself into a stupor," he said, matter of factly.

  Draco laughed, watching the glass he'd just thrown arc as it sailed over the balcony. "If there is any time to be drinking yourself into a stupor, Potter, then this is it," He looked over at him. "Why are you here anyway?"

  Harry sighed, looking straight ahead into the distant lights of London. From all the way up there, they were just dizzy orange blurs, but the sounds of the normal rush hour traffic in the city could be heard. "Y'know, I don't really know. I guess I just felt like I had to."

  "You felt like you had to come to the funeral of someone that almost killed you?" Draco snorted. "One with the forgiving, aren't we, Potter?"

  "I haven't forgiven anybody," said Harry.

  Draco ran a hand through his hair. Now that the rain had died off, it had started to dry. He hoped it wouldn't start getting curly. "It must be really easy to be you, Potter. The little hero."

  Harry glanced at him. "Not everyone asks to be a hero; it just sometimes turns out that way."

  Draco scoffed. "Well it sure turned out your way."

  "Never knew you cared so much, Malfoy," Harry replied.

  Draco ran his finger around the rim of the newest glass to grace his hands. "Just one of my many hidden attributes. Not everyone's this evil without being a little bit nice deep-down inside."

  Harry laughed slightly. "Oceans deep."

  "Nah, only rivers deep," Draco sighed, stretching out his legs. "Look, all I mean is that people trust you."

  "What are you saying?" Harry asked. "You want to be like me? I hardly want to be like me."

  "I'm saying it must be good," Draco replied. "Having everybody on your side."

  Harry looked round at the large balcony they were sat on, inhaling the cool air deeply. "I wouldn't really know how it felt on the other side."

  "Then you're lucky," Draco said.

  They were both silent for a few minutes, each looking straight out at the sights of suburban London. All of a sudden, one of them spoke, startling the other.

  "Malfoy?"

  "Yes, Potter?"

  "What's your house called?"


End file.
